


expectations come to bear

by Sonora



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Animal Death, Canonical Character Death, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heart, Heavy Angst, Incest, Multi, Regret, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:51:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1782967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonora/pseuds/Sonora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody ever said Herc was good at this.</p><p>Or, Herc tries to get on with life after the war, but he really sucks at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The incest is more background than anything else. And... yeah.
> 
> Just one of those weeks, isn't it, where projecting on a fic is far fucking easier than trying to explain anything?

Herc never sleeps in, morning like this.

Normally, he’d be grabbing his clothes, stuffing his old bones back into them - quiet, to avoid any awkwardness, or at least, any more than is strictly necessary, but it doesn’t really count, he supposes, if it’s all his own anyway.

Grabbing his clothes.

Leaving.

Going back to his own space, getting out of the one he’s invaded. Purpose served, welcome rescinded. 

He knows how it goes.

He’s had enough bed mates at this point, hasn’t he?

But this is his room, his space, his floor that his clothes are on. Max watching from his own little bed, over in the corner, the one that used to live in Chuck’s room, just like Max used to live in Chuck’s room, Chuck’s room, where half his shit was stolen by the crew to sell on eBay and shit like that before Herc could bring himself to pack up the rest and send it back to their storage room in Sydney, where it’ll just sit until he dies or forgets to pay the bill and somebody finds it, and...

Herc splashes cold water on his face, in the bathroom, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do about this.

Behind him, through the mirror, he can see them stirring a little, and he has no idea, and it terrifies him.

This isn’t how it works.

Herc knows how this works.

He’s always known.

From the first day his dad tossed him that box of condoms and told him to wrap it up, he’s known.

He wasn’t really fucking anyone at the time - dating was awkward for him when he was a teen, girls these strange things and boys not much better, wanting them too even though he wasn’t supposed to want boys, or wants boys _too_ instead of _instead_. But it wasn’t like anyone was going to find sacred bliss in fucking Broome, or whatever the movies said sex was supposed, so he figured what the hell.

Only so many condom water balloons you could make before your little brother wanted something else.

He was still awkward, but he wasn’t supposed to be - that’s what everyone said, that what Scott said, first time he crawled into Herc’s bed, fifteen and arrogant and demanding Herc show him how to masturbate and _no you wanker I know that’s not how you do it_ \- so he worked at it and got a little better, so he could do right by his kid brother, then better still, once he got the fuck out of there and into the RAAF. 

Which was good, because the first time he was home after Basic, little Scotty crawled right back into bed with him and told him _you’re fuckin’ hot in that uniform_ and crushed his mouth against Herc’s.

Herc had always taken care of him.

So he took care of him. 

He regretted it - sure he regretted it, like he regretted so many things when it came to his family, how screwed up they all turned out because of him, the things he did to them - but it was what Scott needed at the time.

So he gave it to him.

And that’s about when Herc figured out the whole sex thing.

What the point of it was - what he was supposed to do with it.

He looks back at the bed - full body turn this time, a risk, but he doesn’t normally have anyone sleeping in his bed, and he can’t for the life of him understand why they came by last night, instead of just telling him to come by their room, like they normally do - and hopes it was decent. Good for them. He cares about both of them, in what Chuck might have called _your own twisted way, old man_ \- and Jesus fuck, he can hear that in his son’s voice, so loud, so close...

Mako’s up.

She meets his eye for a brief moment, and then nods, leaning back over the lump that’s a still-sleeping Raleigh, murmuring to him in Japanese.

Herc realizes he didn’t put boxers or anything back on.

Mako’s head is tilted, looking at him.

Fuck.

He kicks the bathroom door closed.

Normally, he knows what they want.

Right now, he has no idea.

It’ll just be easier if they leave. No talking, none of those weird little conversations, full of pregnant pauses and unspoken needs and confusion and all those things he has to sort through to make it better for the next time.

Herc’s always liked being able to take care of somebody else, know that whatever they were doing was good for them. He figured out pretty early on, and especially once he got into the RAAF, working with folks from all over the country, from other countries - like that sweaty summer he spent in Captain Pentecost’s bed, over in Afghanistan, during that deployment, when Pentecost took an interest in him and there it was, all the expectations he knew so fucking well at that point coming to bear - that everyone has different expectations, but everyone expects it to be good.

Which is hard sometimes. Subjective verses objective. He was never very good at figuring out the former - probably why he and Chuck had so many issues - but when it comes to this, he manages.

He’s gotten really good at managing.

Sometimes, still, he dreams about Angie.

Beautiful Angie, who never made him guess. Even when that was her needing another woman in their bed, or another man, or him not there at all, _come on, let’s try it, it’ll be fun, you’ll see, my friend who forwarded the invitation says swinger parties are good for intimacy._

Angie, who gave him Chuck, who...

He closes his eyes, letting his head hit the mirror.

He can’t hear them moving.

Why aren’t they moving?

Don’t they understand how this works?

They’ve always understood in the past.

They’ve never come to his fucking room with a bottle of wine, and...

Scott. Scott used to do the same thing, crawl into Herc’s bunk like they were still teenagers, take what he needed. Herc loved his little brother, loved him more than anything in his life, except Chuck, and he never begrudged him that.

But it was always after a drift.

This...

The jaegers are all gone. Have been for months now.

There’s no drifting anymore.

And he never drifted with Raleigh or Mako, anyway.

He’s slept with Mako before, before... this started up. Before she and Raleigh would just tell him to come by their room, the early _come by tonight_ changing now to _we can’t possibly eat all this dim sum we ordered_ or _we got some Aussie beer if you want some_ , like it somehow helps him if they make it more ambiguous. Like it makes it okay, if they pretend it means something, when he knows it doesn’t.

Slept with her, back when she was still an awkward teen herself and wanting her first time and _I trust you, Ranger Hansen, you’ll be gentle with me._

So he was.

Once.

And locked those memories far, far away from Chuck, from the drift.

He never looks at them himself. Even though he can still feel the edges of it, when he touches her now. She was thinner then, skinny as a rail, but gorgeous, long hair - her hair was long then, almost to her waist - falling around her small, pert breasts in a dark wave, eyes so full of...

Well.

Chuck looked at Herc like that. Once or twice. When he thought his dad couldn’t see.

Under different circumstances, Herc could fall in love with her.

But that’s not what she’s after.

Raleigh made that real clear.

_Just casual okay with you?_

_Fine, mate. Whatever you want._

The same things don’t please everyone. They all want something different. 

Except for this. This is always the same.

He’s only good for what he does.

Nobody wants _him_.

Angela wanted an open marriage, Scott wanted his big brother to love him, Pentecost wanted to have some fun to break up the boredom of a shitty deployment, Chuck who shoved him into a wall after their third kill, _don’t tell me you don’t want this, dad, and don’t tell me you’re not okay with it, all the nasty shit in your head..._

And that - with the exception of Chuck, because Chuck was his son, his child, his boy, and Herc loved him, tried to protect him, should have protected him, should have protected him from _him_ , his fucked-up brain, all the fucked-up things that live in it, wanted to give him the world but could only give him this and a cold grave, vaporized at the bottom of the ocean, life he’d never existed at all - really pisses him off sometimes.

Not that anybody cares.

They look at him and _expect_. Expect him to be good at it. Expect him to be casual about it because they want to be casual about it. Expect him to never hurt over any of it, to be okay with it, give them what they want and never fucking once offer him anything in...

He tells his brain to shut up.

If Raleigh and Mako want it like this, well, it’s the way it’s gonna be.

It’s Mako Raleigh kisses, not him. Raleigh Mako laughs with, not him.

They’ve got their own world together, and he’s got no place it in.

Filing papers, running briefs, managing all the bullshit Stacker used to, trying to keep the program alive for reasons he barely understands, working twelve hour days in service of a war that’s already been won, so he doesn’t have to come back to this empty room and wonder about what everyone else is doing, all his friends, with their families and lovers and futures, when his has already been ripped from him, everyone gone...

No.

Raleigh’s not his. Wasn’t that one night in Manila. Isn’t now.

If Herc’s learned one thing in all his years, it’s that sex does not equal love. And just because he puts his heart into it, doesn’t mean anyone else does.

What matters to him doesn’t matter to others.

His life, one long dreary strip of duty.

What he wouldn’t have given, to go down with Striker. Him, instead of Chuck. His poor boy, dserved so much better than...

There’s a knock at his door. 

Which is weird.

And he doesn’t acknowledge it, but it opens anyway, which is weirder still.

Raleigh. It’s Raleigh. Standing there in nothing but his boxers, hair mussed, Mako’s love bites all over his neck and shoulders - they never let Herc leave any, _don’t really think that’s a good idea, Marshall_ \- and he’s just so achingly gorgeous like that...

It’s never been about him. 

It’ll never be about him.

_Duty._

He made peace with that a long time ago.

And yet...

Herc lets himself have a few seconds. A few heartbeats. 

Reaches out.

As much as he dares.

Raleigh’s mouth is warm and soft on his own, sweet and just a little sour, morning breath after that Sav-Blanc, and the Marshall resists the urge to wind his fingers tighter into those soft blond locks and push him back against the wall and...

He lets go. Pushes Raleigh back, alone, not going with him.

More than a little embarrassed, for thinking any of that.

Fantasies are for his hand, for the middle of the night when nobody else can see or hear.

They aren’t for moments like this.

Hell, he’s not even supposed to be having this moment. Raleigh and Mako aren’t supposed to be here. They got what they wanted, already did what they wanted. 

“Last night was fun, mate,” Herc says carefully.

Raleigh gives him a look that is one hundred percent unreadable, and makes like he’s supposed to say something, but then turns his head.

Looking at something on the edge of the sink.

Herc doesn’t try to stop him, as he reaches for it.

“Why do you have this?”

And sure. Maybe that’s warranted.

“Raleigh, if I was gonna kill myself, I’d use a gun.”

The American’s face contorts. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s the truth, mate. Wouldn’t risk something like that on pills.”

“You don’t need this much Valium,” Raleigh says, and shakes the bottle. 

“Helps me sleep.”

“I’ve been on this stuff. It doesn’t.”

“Helps me not dream, then,” Herc amends, more honestly.

And Raleigh’s face... “Herc, if you ever need to talk about, I don’t know, things...”

Herc snorts; he’s not going to dignify that with a response.

They’ve made it clear what they’re after.

“You should go,” he says instead. 

“Is that what you want?”

He bristles - no, it’s not. He wants them to stay, to always be here, to let him make love to them, like nobody’s ever let him do, not even the people who said they loved him, which of course they never have, and of course they never will. 

Herc’s aware of where he falls. What level of concern he merits.

“Like you give a shit. Get the fuck out of my room.”

And if they cared, Raleigh would argue this. He’d insist it wasn’t so. 

He’d stay.

But he just goes out and pulls his clothes on, kissing Mako the way Herc wishes Raleigh would kiss him, whispering something, and she just nods.

But they leave.

Like they were always going to.

Like they always will.

They’re just here for the porn.

That’s all he is to them.

Max pushes his nose against Herc’s leg, as he locks the door behind them.

His chest is tight.

Nobody ever said he was good at this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so you know how sometimes I get in sad moods and write sad things? This is such a thing. Have another chapter of this sad little story. (Also, here be more incest)

Herc’s not surprised when the orders come down.

“Shatterdome’s closing,” he tells Mako and Raleigh. “Two weeks.”

They’re not in bed together - Herc’s not the kind of bloke who does pillow talk. Angie wasn’t into it, Chuck didn’t get it, and everybody else, well. They’re in the Kwoon. Or rather, Mako and Raleigh are in the Kwoon. Together. Doing their _together_ thing. Without him. Like they have for the past week.

Really, it was about time they moved on from him. 

Mako nods her head. “It does make sense. We’ve made arrangements.”

Raleigh leans on his bo, breathing heavy. “You got a place to go, sir?”

Herc tries not to read too much into that. He won’t let himself. Even if the American was about to ask him _come with us_ , he wouldn’t go. Not for what they’d want him for, whatever it is. He’s fucked - and been fucked by - them enough, hasn’t he?

Not that they’re going to ask him, and they don’t, and he’s fine with that.

He’s fine.

They deserve better than him, even if he knows he’ll never have better than them.

“Two weeks,” he repeats. “I’d like to do a final sweep of the facilities, make sure there’s nothing sensitive we’ll be handing back to the Chinese. Just in case.”

Mako and Raleigh exchange a look. “Yes sir.”

Herc doesn’t say goodbye to them, and when they come by, the night before decommissioning - there’s not even a ceremony, the whole thing going out with a whimper, which hurts more than it should, considering how it started and all they’ve done - Herc doesn’t let them in.

He hangs around long enough the next morning to see that they get on their jumphawk. Raleigh’s arm is slung around Mako’s shoulders; Mako’s fingers are playing with his belt loops. Neither one of them looks back at him.

Standing there, in the gray haze of the last spring dawn, Herc wonders what it would be like to have somebody love him like that. Care like that. Be close like...

He growls at himself, Max whines, and he packs his shit on to the Gulfstream Australia’s sent for him. A couple of bags. A sad dog. His son’s dog tags - left, he’d discovered, in place of his own on the hook in the bathroom. Boy always insisted on wearing his tags on deployments, probably just grabbed the wrong ones by mistake before heading out to die in Pitfall.

He doesn’t want the damn things. He wears them anyway.

Herc has dinner in Canberra by himself that night. Some people from Parliament, the UN ambassador, was supposed to meet him at the airport. Of course, that didn’t happen. They aren’t at the hotel or the rooftop restaurant at the agreed-upon time either, so Herc just swallows down his irritation at the prices on the menu and orders himself the New Zealand lamb roast and a bottle of wine.

Hopefully, his pension cheques will be more prompt than his elected government representatives.

He gets a text, back at the room later, that some staffer got the dates mixed up. It’s quite apologetic, full of fluffy words and requests to reschedule.

“Fucking lovely,” Herc grumbles, and types a quick, bland reply. 

_My final reports have already been submitted. Nothing of pressing importance to report. I shall update the DVA when I have a permanent address, in case anyone might need to contact me._

Herc deletes the last sentence before sending. Seems a bit sentimental for government officials. It’s his last official email as Marshall, he decides, and deletes the account off his tablet.

The servers are due to go down at midnight tonight anyway. 

It’s pretty obvious; they’re done with him.

There’s nothing on the telly that night about him coming home. He’s not surprised about that. No PPDC propaganda department to handle press releases about such matters any more, and fuck knows he didn’t want to make big deal out of it himself. His boy’s funeral had already been more than he could bear.

Max snugged up against his knees, Herc puts the news on mute and tries not to think about his son.

It doesn’t work - the taste of the lip balm Chuck insisted he didn’t wear always comes back at the worst times.

Herc drinks everything but the vodka out of the minibar.

Scott always liked vodka best.

+++++

He ends up in Adelaide.

No reason, in particular. Just that that sort of seems to be where he stops driving. Where he can find a flat for not too much, not too far outside the city center, near a nice park that Max likes. Not that Max likes much these days; he’s as sad as Herc is, and maybe that fits. Nobody recognizes him here, or if they do, they leave him alone. Herc likes that.

He also likes that he doesn’t have any family here.

Nobody he has to look in the eye. Nobody who wants to know if the rumors about _you and Scott_ or _you and your son_ are true.

Who hasn’t Herc fucked at this point?

It’d be funny, except it’s fucking not. 

He hasn’t been this empty in years. Except he has, and he’s just starting to notice that, and he’s not sure what to do with it.

One of the first things they beat into you, when you’ve got one of those fancy high-security military jobs like he used to, is the importance of varying your routine. Not establishing habits. Going to different places at different times. But Herc’s lived under military discipline since he was seventeen. It’s a hard thing to be without.

Who’s looking for him anyway?

He finds himself establishing something of a rhythm, and then something more. There’s not much to do with his time at first except walk Max, so he does that. Every evening. As far as the old boy can go, maybe a mile at best when it’s cool. Two old men, going for a stroll. But that’s not enough exercise for him, his body screaming for some kind of activity, so he starts running in the morning. Those runs are longer - four, five, six miles. Enough to exhaust him to the point where he doesn’t dream of anyone. Not Chuck or Scott or Stacker or Angie or Mako and Raleigh... especially not Mako and Raleigh, seeing as how they’re the only ones still around.

They’re on the news sometimes. In the gossip rags or an evening news show, buying ice creams at the beach or talking about some political issue. Herc tries not to watch when they’re on. They’re both so goddamn happy-in-love, it hurts.

The rest of the day, Herc doesn’t do anything.

Trying to forget, trying not to care, all the things that he’s lost... that, that takes what little energy he has left.

And things go on like that for a while.

Until Scott shows up.

+++++

_I’m clean now, and I’ve been doing all the therapy I was supposed to, and... ‘Le, we can make a go of it, can’t we? We can be a family again._

Scott doesn’t say how he finds Herc, and Herc doesn’t ask. For a few shining months, starting when Scott shows up on his doorstep, asking if they can talk, if he can apologize, Herc lets himself hope.

Hope that maybe this the answer to the prayers he doesn’t have the courage to form.

Maybe he can have some family again. Find some peace.

It doesn’t work that way, though.

It’s nice, at first. Of course it is. Scott seems to be trying so hard, seems so sad, grieving for Chuck just like Herc is, and he’s there.

Herc does say _no sex_ , which lasts about as log as Max does. Poor old boy. His fat little wrinkly body gives out on one of those evening walks. Just collapses. Too hot. Too far. The nearest emergency vet clinic is a mile away, and even running, Herc doesn’t get him there in time. 

They promise they’ll get him the ashes tomorrow.

“Sir? I need your name and address at the bottom here,” the vet tech tells him as he’s settling the bill. Forms. Fucking forms. He had to fill loads of them out when Chuck died, too. When do they end? “I’ll also need your primary veterinary clinic...”

“Haven’t had one since the war ended,” he grunts over his grief, hand shaking so hard he can barely write the information out. It ends up on the page. Barely. “Moved from Sydney.”

“Max... Hansen?” she asks, and her eyes widen. “That’s...”

And there is precisely the conversation he does not want to have. “I’ll come pick him up tomorrow, if that’s alright.”

“Yes, of course, but...”

“Good night, ma’am.”

It’s all he can do to get out of there. Make it home. Wait for Scott - of course Scott isn’t around, it was always that way before, but fortunately, Herc doesn’t have to wait long. 

He cries it out in his brother’s shoulder. 

Somehow, comfort on the couch turns into fucking on the couch, and it seems to settle something in his little brother, so Herc lets it go.

He doesn’t has Max to take care of anymore. 

He needs some kind of reason to get up in the morning.

Herc lets it go.

Scott stops sleeping in the guest bedroom. Doesn’t ask permission, but then, when did he ever?

“About time you let me back in, love,” Scott whispers in his ear, the words tightening around him in the dark.

Herc just breathes into it.

There’s nothing left for him to do.

There’s just nothing left.

If this is the only way he can salvage his relationship with what’s left of his family, the only person on Earth who might love him at this point...

And it goes on like that for a while.

+++++

Herc doesn’t take much with him when he leaves.

Max’s ashes, a small little urn that can’t possibly begin to hold everything that damn dog was, everything he did for his boy. Herc wants to spread them on Chuck’s grave; those two should be together. He hopes they are. If humans are lucky enough to have an afterlife, dogs should be extended the same courtesy.

That’s in an honored place in his knapsack. Right next to the dogtags.

The rest of the things are just thrown in.

Other than the urn, and the terabyte hard drive with what’s left of his family photos and military records, there’s not much Herc needs or cares about.

He hasn’t checked his email in almost a year.

He leaves Scott the computer. Along with a note, explaining why he’s going. It’s short. Even at that, Scott won’t read it, and it’s all lies anyway. _You haven’t stopped lying... you haven’t stayed clean and yes I know your fucking doctor says you need it for the pain..._

Yeah, naw. 

Herc’s tired. Tired of being treated like a fuck toy. Nothing’s ever about what he wants; not with Scott, not with anyone. They just keep taking and taking and... and he can’t vocalize what he _does_ want, but what he doesn’t want is his brother fucking him in silence and slapping his ass afterward, laughing breathlessly one moment and accusing Herc of not loving him enough, not loving all the _fucking_ enough, the next.

Anyway.

It’s never been about what Herc wants. 

But he feels better about himself, leaving, than he has in years.

There’s not a damn soul on the planet who cares about him now. He could drive his car off the cliffs of the coast, hit the water, drown, die, and nobody would know. Nobody would ever know.

It’s freeing, somehow.

He stays in a hotel in Sydney the next night. Dreams about Mako and Raleigh, and hopes they’re happier than he is. Buys himself a ticket to Hawaii - Chuck’s headstone is at the Punchbowl, Herc too tired by the whole Pitfall mess to protest which country held the piece of stone that marked his son’s empty grave, body vaporized at the bottom of the ocean. 

It’s been almost a year since Pitfall. 

Herc doesn’t really think about what this means.

“Welcome to the United States, Marshall Hansen,” the Customs official in Oahu says, as he’s handing Herc back his passport and paperwork. “Here for the festivities?”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

+++++

Turns out, the seppos - and everyone else in the Pacific, somehow - have turned this into an international day of remembrance. Which fucking figures, actually. Nobody ever could leave well enough alone.

It also means there’s a big celebration going on at Waikiki. At the Punchbowl, which is terrible, because he can’t go visit. No way is Herc going to get trapped out there in that sea of self-congratulating UN officials, happy civilians, and canonized ex-PPDC personnel. No way is he going to get dragged into making a _speech_.

Raleigh does, though. Beautiful, sweet, solid Raleigh Becket, standing in his mess dress, at a podium erected in front of some half-completed memorial somewhere downtown, reading lines somebody else probably wrote for him. Mako’s behind him.

She’s wearing an engagement ring.

Good for them.

“... and as we remember everyone who fell in service to the world, we should also remember those who survived, who came home bearing the scars of...”

Herc turns the TV off. Just _seeing_ Raleigh again...

He was stabbed once, back in Afghanistan, by one of those damn Afghani cops. 

This feels far worse.

It’s completely irrational, and he knows this, but it frankly pisses him off that Raleigh and Mako never wanted him for anything more than a fuck. That he never got to have anything more with them. The he could never have whatever... this... is, with them.

But then, it’s his fault. 

He’s not a man anybody can love. Doesn’t merit it. Doesn’t earn it.

Why should he get to have that?

Why’s his story owed a happy ending?

Sex. That’s all that’s been his to have. Wanting more than his lot, that’s always been his problem.

He drinks the minibar dry. This time, he does drink the vodka.

Fuck Scott.

Hopefully, this shit will all be over in a day or two, the press will be gone, and he can take Max’s ashes up where they belong. 

What happens then, Herc’s got no idea.

He’s just so tired of trying to wring meaning from this world. Trying to find a place for himself in it. It’s never wanted him around. Nobody’s ever wanted him around.

+++++

As small as the section is, where the fallen Rangers lie, it’s still too big.

Standing there, in front of Yancy’s grave, Raleigh feels like he’s drowning in it. A sea of grief. It sucks.

Still, he’s in town and this is where his brother’s body is, and it would be wrong not to visit. Say something. Except he doesn’t know what to say.

He’s tired of talking.

Herc should have been here yesterday, giving speeches, saying all the nice things everyone around the world wants to hear. But nobody knows where the fuck Herc is, and Herc’s been damn good about ignoring all attempts to reach him electronically. Went back to Australia, probably, but who knows? Man always was a tight-lipped bastard.

But.

Raleigh did hear about Max. At least, it was on Reddit. Some vet tech from Adelaide, Australia posted the photo. Looked like Max, but it had never been confirmed.

He went for weeks, scared out of his mind that maybe Herc had killed himself or something. 

The war took everything from him. More than most people. What did Herc had left?

Even now, Raleigh feels incredibly... well, guilty isn’t the right word, but he does feel bad about the way they parted ways. He hadn’t known what to do at the time. Herc was so damn resistant to even the slightest overtures of affection, of connection. He hadn’t wanted to leave him behind, but then, he’d wanted to kiss him too. Not like Herc had ever allowed him to do that.

Fucking. That’s all Raleigh and Mako had been to their commander. Some kind of distraction, while they all tore their world apart, decommissioned the ‘Dome. Moved on.

Moved away.

Sure, it had started with wanting to soothe all the pain boiling under the surface, but it had turned into so goddamn much more than that, and Raleigh kind of hates himself for the way he fell for the guy he’d admired since Manila, for the man Mako had been desperately in love with since she was fourteen.

It’s not fucking fa-

Mako squeezes his hand, the metal of her engagement ring digging into his flesh. They’ve got a date for the summer. They’ve already postponed it twice. Didn’t feel right. Raleigh doesn’t want that to happen again. He loves this woman with all his heart and wants to spend his life with her but there’s this hole between them, one that started growing the morning he told her _we can’t keep waiting for him to figure it out_ and she told him _he was my father’s best friend, I cannot just leave him_ and he replied _if he doesn’t want us, honey, we can’t throw everything away for a guy who won’t even..._

Her hand tightens.

Painfully.

“Mako...”

“Look!”

Coming up the long path from the parking lot. 

Thinner, slower, shoulders bowed and cheeks unshaven, but it’s...

It’s Herc.

Raleigh’s heart clenches up, and Mako? He doesn’t need the drift to feel her anxiety, her worry, her need to touch him again.

Herc doesn’t seem to see them at first, not until he sees the flowers they left on Chuck’s grave and looks up, like he can’t believe anyone would do that bit of kindness for the boy who gave his life to save the world.

His eyes go wide, and then he closes them. Sags like a marionette with its strings cut. 

And then he turns around, and heads back down the hill to the parking lot.

Like a ghost.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait! I'm in a slightly better mood now! (And now I'm done, promise)

Watching Herc walk away from her, again, Mako’s heart is in her throat.

Raleigh isn’t moving. Isn’t _doing_ anything. Every other problem he’s come up against - either in her time with him, or those years before she’s seen in the drift - he’s thrown his shoulder into. Worked and fought and struggled until it was resolved. That’s what Raleigh Becket is. Motion.

Yet with Herc...

Neither of them know what to do. 

Something must be done, though. And not only because this is ruining their own relationship - Herc the man neither of them can, nor wishes to, forget.

Herc looks terrible. _Terrible_. Like his heart is gone, spirit followed Chuck off into the afterlife, and...

Who’s been taking care of him? Who’s been there for him, while he grieves? He’s obviously never come here, the PPDC choosing to bury Chuck ceremoniously in a country that’s not even his own, and Mako remembers the day that suit from the UN came by to tell Herc about that. Herc had just nodded, signed the papers, said nothing...

He never says anything about himself, does he? Never asks anything for himself.

Never.

And Mako can still remember the way he was, the evening when she came to him, asking for him, when he and Scott were visiting Hawaii. She was legal and newly aware of her beauty and in her cheerfully naive experience, there wasn’t a white man in existence who’d turn her down She had been in love with Herc since she was old enough to know what love was - he had introduced her to the sensation. She had thought he would enjoy it. He had quite the reputation for being a playboy, after all.

His expression, though, when she asked.

She’d gotten what she wanted from the evening. Wonderful, she’d thought it. Herc had been so gentle, wiped the tears from her cheeks as he broke into her, kissed her so sweetly. But she’d been too young to recognize that expression when she’d asked.

But she knows now.

She’d asked too much. But he gave it anyway.

Mako doesn’t yell, doesn’t run, but she still manages to catch up with him before he can reach the parking lot.

“Marshall,” she says softly, getting in front of him, laying a hand on his cheek, so he can’t look away. It seems to be reflexive though; he won’t meet her eyes. “You did not say goodbye to Chuck.”

“Chuck’s not there.” He sounds wrecked.

She shifts closer into his space, her other hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. “That does not mean you cannot speak to him here.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Hercules,” she says, feeling desperate now. “Please...”

“Whatever it is you think you want from me, I ain’t the one to give it to you.” He kisses her forehead, pushes her away. “Congratulations on Raleigh. When’s, umm, when’s the big day?”

“When you come home with us.”

“Mako...”

“I came by your room, the day we... we left,” she says, genuinely ashamed on herself. “I came to ask if you would come with us. But I was too late. You were already gone and I have regretted that every day since.” She moves her thumb across his cheek, “I am so sorry I did not try harder for you.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Mako,” he mutters. “I... I was there. I heard you knocking.”

“Then why didn’t you answer me?”

“I’m not your problem, Mako. Raleigh, Raleigh needs you...”

“And you do not?” she demands, anger rising. “Or did you not think, perhaps we need you?”

He flushes slightly, lips set in a thin line. “I don’t need you.”

“Like hell you don’t, Herc,” Raleigh says, and Mako could kiss him. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Raleigh...”

“Go say anything you need to say up there,” and Raleigh nods at the cemetery. “We’re buying you dinner tonight.” Herc just looks at Mako; gutted. Angry, somehow. But Raleigh just crosses his arms, undeterred. 

“Fine,” is all Herc says. 

He disappears up the hill for well over an hour, and when he comes back, it’s pretty obvious he’s been crying. That ginger complexion doesn’t hide a thing.

He doesn’t let Mako touch him again.

Like a man being driven to his own execution, and what the hell is that about?

+++++

Herc honestly has no idea what the fuck they want from him.

But here he is.

Having dinner - finishing dinner. Dessert’s on its way. 

He can’t even remember what he ordered for that. The mahi he had was excellent, better than anything he’s had in a while, but it’s not sitting well in his stomach. His stomach’s on fire, actually. Has been for at least the past two hours. Raleigh and Mako keep chatting in this fancy, exclusive place, talking away like Chuck didn’t die a year ago... like it wasn’t Herc’s fault for unhooking from his harness and injuring himself and sending his boy to his death...like he hasn’t destroyed his entire family, everyone he loved, never enough to save them from...

“Herc. You okay?”

It’s the first time tonight Raleigh’s actually asked him that, instead of pressing forward with his happy little conversation.

It’s the first time anybody’s asked him that in a while, Herc realizes.

Takes him a moment to process it.

And no, he’s not fine. He cried over his son’s not-grave today, he’s sitting at a table because they shamed him into it, he aches in all those old injured places, he can’t hardly breathe, but...

“Fine, Raleigh.”

“You just haven’t spoken all night, and...”

“And what do you want me to say?” 

“I don’t know. Anything. Where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing,” Raleigh says carefully, obviously hesitant. “Why you haven’t answered any of our emails.”

“We heard about Max,” Mako adds, and touches his knee under the table. “We have been so worried about you, without him.”

“Why?” Herc asks, too tired to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He’s supposed to be back in his hotel room, drinking himself stupid until he can’t dream about his boy anymore. Can’t dream about any of them. “The fuck does it matter?”

Raleigh and Mako look at each other, a whole conversation contained in that one glance. Drift compatibility, Herc thinks, pained to see it. He never had that with anyone; nothing special, not even that, not for the PPDC’s only universally compatible Ranger. And his one drift partner left alive on this Earth... well, he left Scott in Adelaide, didn’t he? Cut that one last tie he had.

“Max was...” Mako begins.

“...Chuck’s,” Raleigh finishes, sad. “That has to mean something.”

“They’re back together again,” Herc says shortly, wishing he had a fresh long-neck in front of him, instead of the half-finished glass of wine from the bottle Mako ordered. It took him almost an hour today to empty that tiny little urn out on Chuck’s grave. At least Chuck fucked up and took the wrong dog tags. Last thing he has that connects him to his son. 

And part of him wishes he could have kept Max. But Max was never his. He bought the dog for Chuck, back when he had nightmares so bad he couldn’t sleep. Three nights with that wrinkly little puppy on his pillow, and Chuck never woke up screaming again.

Chuck had never had anything but contempt for his old man, but at least he’d loved that dog.

How do they even know about it? Why do they care?

“It’s the way it should be.”

“But you’re by yourself now and...”

“The fuck do you care?” Herc demands of Raleigh, and tries to push Mako’s hand off his leg. She won’t let go, and it’s frustrating as hell and he feels like he’s going to throw up.

“What do you mean, what do I care? Herc, you... we...”

“Yeah, we fucked. So what?” Herc can’t wait for dessert. He can’t sit here a moment longer, something expanding dangerously in his chest. Raleigh and Mako are so happy together, and they should be. So perfect for each other, perfect, without him, he’s got no place with them, no matter what he might... And he gets up, shelling a couple notes out of his wallet because like _hell_ is Raleigh buying him dinner. “Didn’t mean anything.”

“How can you say that?” Mako asks quietly, furiously.

“Because it didn’t,” Herc tells her. “You two just came by one night and did this same shit, where you wouldn’t leave...”

“We were worried about you,” Mako replies, almost defiant.

“No, you wanted... what you wanted,” he hisses back, choosing his words a bit more carefully than he would have if it was just him and Raleigh. Herc might be an old military man and Mako a fellow Ranger, but he’d like to think he can still be something of a gentleman in front of a beautiful woman. “You came and you got it and know you’re sitting here with your engagement ring on and your fiancee at your side, asking for it again.”

Her face contorts. “Herc, I am not asking for _that_.”

“Then what are we doing here?” She just stares at him, disbelief on her face, and anything that’ll come out of her mouth now will either be a lie or a truth he can’t face right now, not with as raw as he is. 

“Herc,” Raleigh admonishes. “We’re not done with dinner yet.”

“Get stuffed,” Herc tells him, and walks out of the restaurant.

The hostess agrees to call him a cab. He waits outside for it on the curb, breathing in the damp evening air of the tropics and wondering where in his life everything went so goddamn wrong. Wishes he’d never let Raleigh and Mako in that first night. That he’d been half an hour late to the cemetery today, missed them completely.

This aches.

But then, so does everything else.

What is there back in Australia to go home to? Not that Herc can stay here; sure isn’t anything to stay here f-

“Herc!”

It’s Raleigh. Wearing that kicked-puppy look of his. It almost bursts that pressure bubble building deep down in Herc, and he can’t look at the boy.

“Go away.”

“No. Why?”

“Reckon I’m not in the mood to fuck anyone tonight,” Herc tells him, and just about then, his cab pulls up. “Goodbye, Raleigh.”

But before Herc can open the door, a calloused hand finds his wrist. Turns him around. For a crazy moment, Herc thinks Raleigh is going to kiss him.

Instead, Raleigh punches him. Hard.

In the face.

It knocks Herc back. Down, barely hitting the cab instead of the curb, but it’s not enough to stop the instinctive reaction, which is ripping up, grabbing Raleigh by the throat and slamming him back down on the boot of the car. Raleigh tries to go for an escape - both hands straight up the middle - but Herc just knees him in the stomach because he is not in the mood for this shit tonight. 

Pinned, Raleigh spits in his face. “Oh, fuck you, Herc!”

Herc growls and squeezes harder.

“Fuck you!” Raleigh snaps, coughing a little from the force of the words. The sound of it reminds Herc that he is choking the boy, and he lets up, moves back, like he’s waking up from a dream. Raleigh rubs the skin of his neck, a sickly red-purple in the bright artificial streetlights, face flushed, breathing hard. “Is that all we were to you?” he demands.

Herc blinks. Huh? “What?”

“You don’t care, do you? I’ve told her so many times that you were just grieving, that you wouldn’t forget about her, that one day, at something like this, we’d see you again and you’d be ready to...” Raleigh stops himself. Bites his lip. “But I’ve been lying to her, haven’t I? I’ve been lying to... to both of us. You never intended to come back.”

With no idea what’s going on, all Herc can do is shake his head. “No, I never wanted.. it’s too... why would I come back?”

“Must be great to be able to float through life like that, feeling nothing for nobody,” Raleigh growls. “Meanwhile, Mako keeps postponing our wedding date because she says the goddamn bed feels too empty with just the two of us, and I keep hoping...” He stops again, face a very curious shade of red now, and Herc feels like is he dares breathe, he’ll explode. “But it’s all bullshit. Cause you weren’t coming back.”

“You didn’t want me!” Herc snaps. Raleigh’s brows furrow, and fuck, that is infuriating. They’re starting to draw a crowd but Herc doesn’t care in the slightest “You made it goddamn clear what it was you were after!”

“Yeah what, like you?”

“Oh, you self-righteous cunt, get off your...”

“Because that’s what we wanted, Herc, we wanted you, we still want you...”

“I’m too old to be your houseboy, Becket, and whatever Mako used to get from me, I’m sure you’re better at it. So why don’t you fuck off and stop trying to shower me in all of this pity?”

But the reaction he thinks he’s going to get is not what comes. 

Raleigh’s eyes just widen, all the anger falling out of his tensed muscles. “Wait, Herc, did you think... no, fuck, Herc, no, no, come on, you gotta know,” and he tries to smile. “Mako’s been in love with you since the first time she met you. Guess we... we both have. Broke my heart when you left. We just want you to come home with us. Cause we, umm, love you.”

And that radiating pain in his chest is suddenly the only thing Herc can feel.

There’s nothing to say. Nothing to do. And hasn’t he suffered enough? Hasn’t he lost enough, sacrificed enough. Why is Raleigh saying this, telling him this now? He’s already got too much pain; there’s no space left in him for any more. He can’t carry...

He wants to leave.

But he doesn’t.

Because Raleigh looks like he’s on the verge of tears, and that’s Herc’s fault, and he can’t just let that go. He doesn’t know how to fix it, but he doesn’t know what to apologize for.

He’s backing up now. 

There’s nothing left to do.

“I can’t, darling, I can’t,” Herc says instead, helpless, and that thing in his chest? It’s bursting now, tearing him apart. Burning, actually, and he wishes there was something more he could do, something else he could give, show Raleigh how precious he is, how precious they both are, how he loves them both so desperately, but the world is going gray, that fine Hawaiian sunset fading to black and he can’t, “I can’t-“

+++++

Raleigh sits at the edge of Herc’s hospital bed, watching the heart monitor. Blip. Blip. Blip.

“They said, if you had not been there, he could have died.”

Raleigh scrubs a hand across his face, looking up at Mako, who presses a coffee into his hand. “Thanks,” he says, voice rough. The caffeine is good. Eight hours, and Herc still hasn’t come to yet. How he’d held it together until the ambulance arrived, Raleigh doesn’t know. The night’s kind of a blur. Herc’s stabilized, the nurse has promised, and when he wakes up, he’ll be transferred to the best private clinic on the island. “Isn’t this... didn’t they say this isn’t normal? Isn’t he too young to have a heart attack?”

“He’s a forty-six year old man who spent almost thirty years in combat zones and has lost too much in the past decade,” Mako says gently, and sits down next to Raleigh. She lays her head on his shoulder, hugging close to him. “He likely has not been to a doctor this year either.”

“He’s too young,” Raleigh repeats, still feeling numb. He can still see Herc’s face, the moment he told the man he loved him. Herc hadn’t known. Hadn’t even suspected. Was devastated by hearing it. “He’s easy to look up to, you know? Seems so strong all the time, like nothing can touch him.”

Mako is a comforting warmth against him; Raleigh feels very cold right now. “He is hurting.”

“No shit,” Raleigh mumbles, and closes his eyes. “We let him down.”

“I know.”

“Thought we were just trying to...”

“Raleigh, I know.” Her voice is firm, and he looks up at her, feeling helpless. She nods at Herc. “When he wakes up, we will let him know how sorry we are for not being more clear with him. And we will also tell him he must come home with us, so we can take care of him because he is obviously not taking care of himself.”

He smiles weakly at her, exhausted. “He doesn’t want pity.”

“It’s not pity. It’s love,” she replies, and kisses him.

“Reckon I could use some of that,” says an all-too familiar voice.

And at the sight of pain-clouded blue eyes blinking awake in the pre-dawn of a new day, it’s Mako’s turn to tear up.

Or throw herself at their former lover.

Whatever works.

He’s got a couple of lines in him, but Herc doesn’t even seem to notice as he hugs Mako back, her petite frame shaking as she starts weeping into the thin hospital gown. Herc whispers something to her, gentle and quiet, too quiet for Raleigh to hear, but the hand that’s extended to him is unmistakable.

Raleigh takes it. 

“You’re coming home with us this time. No arguments, okay? We’ve got a nice guest room you can have, or you can sleep with us, or whatever you need, but you’re coming home with us.”

Herc just nods, but that expression... 

That might be something like a smile.


End file.
